12.09.2013

...because one of her friends at school uses "retard" as a casual pejorative. I suspect she already knew; she is nine after all. But this is an age where one's big kid ability to take in and process information is often at odds with one's little kid assumptions that the world is entirely a good, safe, and happy place. So here is what I told her:

'Retard' is a word used to make fun of people like your brother, people with intellectual disabilities. It is an awful word, and people who know better should not use it.

She asked me what to say to her friend, and I told her she could try the following:

1) 'Retard' makes fun of people like my brother.
2) So it hurts my feelings when you use that word.
3) So please do not use that word.

She'll be home in a few hours. We'll see how it went. And I think I'll have her watch the Not Acceptable PSA, even though it will further puncture her safe happy assumptions bubble.

12.02.2013

This little girl turned nine while we were in Mexico last week, surrounded by family plus a chorus of nice waiters who then got attack "abrazos por todos."

This little boy turned nine at a bouncy house place near his home, surrounded by family and friends. We sang him "happy birthday" for the rest of the week by his request.

This little girl turned nine in Cambodia, with just her mother and a chorus of clacking crabs on the dark beach nearby.

And this mother is wistful about her last year of having a little kid. I was reflective during my entire ninth year, mulling over the gravity of transitioning from single to double digits, and wonder if Mali feels the same way.

And I think we were able to give all three of our kids happy and memorable ninth birthdays. The mostly atrophied but still functioning, finger-wagging Catholic part of me hopes they feel as lucky to have such fun celebrations as I feel to be their mom. The rest of me just hopes they remember their ninth birthdays as pretty good days.

11.22.2013

App-loving Babymouse fans, your wait is over: Everyone's favorite slightly neurotic rodent is now available to play, via both iTunes and Google Play. Let iDevices and Android tablets alike rejoice. Even better, the app is free!

And really good, according to my own wee Babymouse fan. The app uses excerpts from the Babymouse graphic novels as the basis for some seriously fun word matching, guessing, and spelling. Or, according to the app summary:

Playing the Android version on our Xoom

"Pop the Pic World Puzzle Game based on the popular Babymouse kids comic
book series. Reveal the comic book pictures piece by piece and try to
guess the word."

And did I mention the Free part? This is not an introductory dealie, the app will stay free. So if you know someone who has read all the Babymouse books and craves more, consider this an Expanded Universe option, and an opportunity to make that fan's day. But the app is a kick even for those who have somehow never crossed over into the wonderful world of Babymouse.

But don't take my word (heh) for it. Here what a dedicated fan (my
daughter, who has played both the iPad and Android versions) has to say:

If you know or read me, you know I have Big Thoughts on many aspects of autism & autism parenting. But when it comes to defining autism? That's a highly individualized experience -- which is one reason so many people were outraged by Suzanne Wright's attempt to hijack it.

It's also not my experience. I do not have an autism diagnosis. My son does. So I'll let him show you it's like to be him, to be an intrinsically happy Autistic person. It's not always easy, especially the communication. But he's working on communicating, we're working on that with him, and for the most part he's got a whole lot of joy going on.

For my part, I'm in love with my son, and grateful to be his mother.

Video description: Seven mostly very peaceful minutes of Leo hiking in the woods and grasslands. He has occasional Autistic tics and stims. About five minutes in he uses scripted language "We're not going to go back to the car" to let me know that he's not happy about the trail going uphill. I reassure him that he's great, and he uses echolalia "you're great" to acknowledge what I said. At the end he needs me to give him my full attention, and I turn off the camera.

11.08.2013

This cute little dude will be thirteen tomorrow. To quote Yul Brynner: "How how how?" Those of you who have been reading along over the years -- please tell me you share at least some of my feeling of being hit over the head by time?

We are celebrating with the usual jumpy birthday party with friends, because that is what Leo likes. There will be cupcakes and pizza for the same reason.

We will also give him a few presents. But mostly we are using this milestone to acknowledge that our boy is become a teenage dude, and no longer a little kid. So while one of his presents is a Monsters University DVD, another is a room makeover -- working with him, asking him about taking down the stamper paint 1-2-3 posters he made years ago (he said yes) and putting up a Star Tours poster instead. Removing the colored, preschool-style toy bins and replacing them with clean white shelves for relocating some of those toys. Replacing cutesy puppy sheets with cozy red fleece ones.

Nothing is going away permanently, not at first. We'll store most of his kiddie stuff in the garage for a while, in case he asks for it. Because he does that, sometimes, and knowing things are retrievable is reassuring way for him to manage transitions. Pluse these changes are hard for all of us, especially sentimental mothers who wish their kids could stay kids just a little longer.

----

If you'd like to honor Leo's 13th birthday, his school would be most grateful for a donation of any size. Just click through to the school site and click the Donate button. Thank you.

10.30.2013

I really must write more about our trip to Ghana. You know, the one we took in June.
One thing I will say: The next time you find yourself in Accra and in need of beautiful clothing and handicrafts, go to the Accra Arts Center and look for these two fine gentlemen:

Asamoah Jones sells excellent clothing, with a wide range of options for men, women, and children. His shop number is #83, near the center of the main building.

Ras Emma has his own large stall behind the main building, and sells wooden and other handicrafts. It was through him that we acquired a beautiful djembe (drum) and kalimba (thumb piano). His shop is #159.

My daughter is already asking when we can go back. Soon, I hope. Though the fact that we were able to go at all makes the experience seem like a dream.

10.24.2013

Yesterday my birth son's family contacted me and confirmed that he doesn't know he is adopted. They really don't want to tell him. The reasons are long, complicated -- and private.

And wrong no matter what, in my opinion. He deserves to know who he is. And I do not, as a friend of mine wrote, want to be complicit in his being lied to about his identity. As I told his family, genetic tests are getting cheaper all the time, and cataloguing one's own genetic makeup is very popular with college students. What if he orders one on his own, finds out on his own that his family kept his truth from him? I'm certain that would be far more devastating than learning of his adoption from his family.

They need to tell him. I'm not going to do it. I have no interest in being the person who leaks his secret identity. That responsibility lies with his family, the people who did the work of raising him, the people who have been loving him in person for 20+ years. I have no, never had any intention of, trying to make them look bad, taking their place, or trying to insinuate myself, because any of those actions are gross as well as ethically messed up.

But this was also never a closed adoption. The fact that I have been respectful and kept my distance does not mean I don't care, don't want him to know he has a whole other story that he can access any time he likes, plus a motherlode of geeks just across the Bay who would welcome him with open arms if he chose to expand (not replace, expand) his family. He deserves the option to make the choice to know us -- or not. If he just wants info, just wants to know more about his native French speaking great-grandfather or talk about the genetics of autism, I'm OK with that.

I'm worried that his parents think adoption is shameful, that knowing he is adopted would make him think they love him less in some way, that there's something wrong with him. But how could he think that, when they've been loving and supporting him his entire life, as much as any child has ever been loved and supported? He is a wanted, cherished son who was born when I was an immature young woman who knew that the best thing for him would be to live with parents who were ready and able to be his family in a way I absolutely was not. He needs to be told. And soon, before he finds out on his own.

Thing is, next steps are unclear -- which is why I'm asking you for advice, dear Interwebs. What resources should I send to his family, to help them understand why their denying his being adopted is a really, really bad idea that will ultimately cause more harm than good?

10.22.2013

One message I think autism parents don't hear enough: it is so important to make time and space for our autistic kids to be themselves. To do what they like. To be completely relaxed and unstressed.
To not have other people making demands on them (even to help them), to not be figuring out how to ask people for help so they can do what they want to do. Legitimate, unfettered chill time.

We try to make that time available to Leo, as much as we can: going to the beach, hiking, trampolining, swimming, all things he loves. But sometimes he just wants to sit down, sing, and pound on a damn ball. So he gets to do just that. And this is what it looks like:

He's a happier kid and we're a happier family-of-his when he gets time to be his own happy autistic self. Being Autistic and mostly non-speaking in a world built for non-Autistics means Leo spends a disproportionate amount of his time negotiating, problem-solving, or figuring out how to communicate his needs -- and not always successfully, despite the best efforts of his family, teachers, and friends. And that doesn't include sensory assaults from bickering siblings, clothing, or loud noises. That doesn't include all the times we've misunderstood his needs without knowing we misunderstood them, because of the communication gap -- again, despite our best efforts. His life can be fairly frustrating and anxiety-ridden. He so, so, so needs time to relax and do what he likes.

This is why I think autism parents need to be extra careful to find as many ways to understand our kids as we can. We also need to pick our battles. I almost threw my computer across the room this morning in reading an autism parent's prideful recollection of how she spent hours torturing her teenage autistic daughter, demanding the daughter wear a specific item of clothing and insisting that she (the parent) was not going to "give in to autism."

The daughter did her best, used her best words, tried repeatedly to express her needs -- and ended up in tears because of a mother who would rather impose her will and "beat autism" than understand why her daughter didn't want to wear the item. Maybe the clothing was itchy, maybe the daughter's thermostat worked differently than her mother's, maybe her personal sense of style was being violated -- who knows? Certainly not her mother, who recounted her daughter's distress and attempt to negotiate at length, while crowing about not "giving in" for her daughter's own good. I am not naming names because this parent is self-righteousness incarnate as well as an Autistic-hating repeat offender and she doesn't deserve your attention. But it's important to spread the message that "my way or the highway" incidents like this are absolutely the wrong way to approach conflicts with an autistic child.

It's not easy to be Autistic, and it's not easy to be Leo, even though in general he's the happiest and most affectionate boy I know. So, I beg you, Please don't forget how hard it is to be an atypically-communicating person like my son. Please share the message that Autistic people of all ages deserve extra time and effort to ensure that you're understanding their needs properly, even if what they're doing doesn't make sense to you, even if you think you know better, even if you think it's for their own good.

And, if you have the time, please help share the message that happy stimming is a reasonable and healthy thing.

10.11.2013

I have been having extremely vivid stress-bomb dreams for the past week, the kind that wake me up with a start several times each night. Perhaps my brain has a fail safe so my heart won't explode while I'm asleep, so I can verify that no, my long-haul trucking partner Cee lo Green was not actually crushed in front of my eyes by a falling cargo container. A certain scientist friend says the dreams' intensity may be caused by the antibiotic I'm taking due to not listening to my body very well. In that case, three more days and I'm out.

Though I'll also be wistful, because occasionally the dreams are wonderful verging on wish fulfillment. As in long, thoughtful conversations with my birth son about his life and hopes and interests, after he and a bunch of his friends happened to move into the commune across the street and I brought them welcoming cookies and discovered he was there and in dreamland fashion he knew who I was just not where I was or how to contact me so it was all cool. So very, very cool.

As I do not live in dreamland, the "all cool" scenario is unlikely to happen, and reality will be more complex. But I have definitely had that young man on my mind more than ever lately as he just moved to our area for grad school. Please know I have been disciplined about not stalking him IRL, because that is creepy, and when I did have to go to his new school a few weeks ago for a lecture (we go there often, it has many public events), I did not allow myself to look up the location of his department beforehand.

Except my intellectual precautions had nothing on my visceral impulses and emotions, and the caprices of fate. From the moment I stepped on campus, my attention was drawn to every last potentially ginger student. I couldn't stop scanning, I couldn't focus, couldn't stop my heart's racing. And when I entered the lecture hall building and started walking past office doors, I realized I was ... in his department. I took deep breaths and continued to the lecture, only to find a stifling hot, crowded space with no seats -- a waking nightmare scenario, for me. I tried not to hyperventilate, but after about fifteen minutes fled to the bathroom and broke down in sobs. Not my best day. Fortunately that scientist friend of mine showed up and dragged my sorry butt off for a stiff drink, duck fat french fries, and uni. Which helped.

But I do think that his mother intended for me to be a part of his life, even if just as small part, because of this letter I recently found from her, sent when he was two months old, and containing the pictures of him that I looked at every night when I fled to Ghana the first time. I am going to keep telling myself that that was what she wanted. And even if he doesn't want me to be a part of his life, I just really, truly hope he knows who he is.

Awake or asleep, I am definitely craving resolution. I have taken a
small step in that direction, one that does not involve contacting my
birth son directly, and will wait a few beats before making another
attempt. Fingers crossed.

Why do stories about autistic people always start out on a negative and/or pity-evoking note?

Standing at the Pittsburgh Zoo and PPG Aquarium one day in May, the stocky, broad-faced 19-year-old is bawling like a toddler, which in some ways he still is.

No. He is a nineteen-year-old Autistic young man. Autism means some things are harder for him than for non-Autistic people. But he is not a toddler, not in any way. Describing him that way is both inaccurate and demeaning.

Jeffrey
Maloney has severe autism. He does not speak, except for some short
phrases. He is not toilet-trained. He cannot read or write. He suffers
from seizures. And he is obsessed with certain objects and activities:
animated Disney movies; GeoMagnets; and quarters, which he touches and
stacks and lines up in precise, repetitive ways.

How about writing what he does rather than what he doesn't? The facts are the same in this rewritten paragraph -- except his personal hygiene should be his (and his family's) private business:

Jeffrey Malone is Autistic and has a seizure disorder. When he speaks, it is in short phrases. He has a focused joy with certain objects and activities: animated Disney movies; GeoMagnets; and quarters, which he touches and
stacks and lines up in precise, repetitive ways.

His
routines govern his life, and when they are disrupted -- or he thinks
they have been -- he melts down, as he is doing on this warm spring day.
For some reason, says his mom, Lisa, Jeffrey didn't think this was the
right day for the family to be at the zoo, which is one of their regular
outings, and so he was distraught.

Rewrite:

His routines are of utmost importance to him, and it is almost impossible for him to bear their disruption. When they are disrupted -- or he thinks
they have been -- he melts down, as he is doing on this warm spring day...

For people with autism, even those who can speak and score high on intelligence tests,
changes in their environment can completely undo them. For Jeffrey, his
mom says, it can be "as simple as someone taking his glasses off in a
restaurant, because if you looked a certain way when he walked in and
then you changed, he does not like people to change."

Fair enough.

Two of the four Maloney children have autism. Jeffrey's older brother, Patrick, 20, has Down syndrome and a form of autism known as "pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified." Like Jeffrey, Patrick does not speak and is not toilet-trained.

How would you feel if you were 20 years old and a reporter told the world you weren't toilet trained? This is part of presuming competence -- behaving as though people with disabilities understand every word you're saying. Because in most cases, what proof do you have that they don't, really?

[The parents] also don't spend a lot of time worrying about that issue. "I
can't say I ever thought, 'Oh no, we're not going to live the dream
life we would've had,' " Don said. "I think I've always been of the
opinion you play the hand you're dealt and you make the best of it."

Fair enough.

"Our
life is severely impacted by autism," Lisa added. "Every part of our
life -- mine, my husband's and our typical kids' -- is geared to run
around what the boys need."

This is a matter of attitude, IMHO. I don't want to ding these folks too badly, because they seem to have a fairly matter-of-fact approach to parenting. I'd phrase this as "Autism is a big part of our life," but that's me. Also, every family has to make allowances for different kids' needs. That's just the way it is. Which is what I tell my girls when they complain about anything related to their brother's schedule: we all make accommodations for each other.

She said it was "a little
nerve-wracking" to allow the Post-Gazette to follow her family, because
"you don't know how it's going to come out in the story -- because I
don't want people to think we're saying 'Woe is me,' because that's not
it. You just go about your daily life and you trudge through."

Fair enough. Though I don't trudge, I alternate skipping and stomping.

Don said their decisions about having more children
might have been different if Patrick and Jeffrey had been their first
two. "If we had had two children with handicaps in a row, I think we
would have asked, 'Should we do this again?' "

I've not seen anyone use the term "handicap" in a while -- most people with disabilities prefer the term 'disability.'

To spend time with the Maloneys is to realize that there are two different worlds in autism.

No. Autism is a spectrum. And Autistic people who can speak and write independently can be very outspoken about the pervasiveness of the disabilities they share with other Autistic people, whether those disabilities are obvious or not. They can be especially direct about the trauma of being expected to suppress Autistic behaviors.

Of
course, many researchers in the field now say that the symptoms and
abilities of autistic children vary so widely that we ought to be
talking about several different "autisms."

On a practical level,
though, the picture the Maloneys paint is much different than the image
people get when they see highly talented autistic people like Temple Grandin or John Elder Robison.Among many who occupy the higher-functioning realms of autism, including those with Asperger's syndrome,
there is resentment toward any talk of "curing" autism. They want the
condition to be recognized as a special set of differences and gifts.

OK, now I'm just irritated. John Elder Robison and Temple Grandin are both extremely talented, and should be recognized as such. But they are also very clear about how they compensate for their disabilities. And they both had childhood trauma because of their autism. They both work very hard to help the world better understand Autistic people's needs in general as legitimate, so today's Autistic kids & adults don't have such brutal, misunderstood experiences.

As
a fundraiser for Autism Speaks, whose mission statement says it is
"dedicated to funding global biomedical research into the causes,
prevention, treatments and a possible cure for autism," Lisa constantly
hears from people who hate the term "cure."

I hate the term cure, because autism is not a disease. My son, who is a 1:1 support kid, was born autistic. That's the way his brain came. What he needs is acceptance and support and understanding.

"In families with
autism whose kids do really well, they get almost angry at people who
say we want a cure or want a change. I say to this one young man who
always brings it up to me, 'Look: if my son could be you, that would be a
cure.' "

No, that would be shape-shifting. We need to work harder to understand autistic people for who they are, and get them the support they need -- which would then benefit their families as well. Also, *cough*, eugenics.

"As a parent who has a child on the more severe end of
the spectrum, I think that's a very different thing than someone with
high-functioning Asperger's.

Yes, because they are different people with different abilities. But since Autistic people tend to be more similar than dissimilar, fighting for Autistic accommodations and support in general can benefit both types. Also, I dislike the term "severe" as it's not useful and automatically prejudices people against my son. When I'm feeling cheeky, I say Leo has "high octane" autism. When I'm feeling practical, I say he's a 1:1 support kid.

"I want that for my own child, to
tell you the truth. I would think I had gone to heaven if my child could
be an Asperger's child. But even for the Asperger's children, it's not
normal. You can ask everyone to accept you for who you are, but you are
not in that straight and normal part of the world."

Really? My observation has been that the Asperger's-type kids are the ones who get broken more easily by social and behavioral and sensory expectations -- because they can be included more easily, and they can "pass," and their inevitable resulting meltdowns are more likely to be misinterpreted as tantrums. This makes them also more likely to experience social trauma in middle and high school. They are also less likely to get an official diagnosis, but even when they do they are less likely to get the accommodations they need when resources are tight because the kids whose needs are more obvious tend to get prioritized.So they fall through the cracks, and they suffer. As do their parents. But now I'm falling into the trap of making comparisons, when what we need -- yet again -- is for all Autistics to get fair and sufficient accommodations.

Still, where
people with Asperger's are apt to be viewed as awkward or geeky,
autistic children like Jeffrey and Patrick are the object of often
pitying stares.

So what? Fuck 'em, those starers. We take Leo out to every single place we think he will enjoy and can tolerate -- and we work on teaching him to tolerate other places as well. If he is no longer tolerating them, we leave. Please know that Jeffrey and Patrick and Leo have the same right to be men-about-town as anyone -- the real problem here is that too many parents have been socially conditioned to keep their high support Autistic kids home.

Jeffrey "will hit his head with his hands, or bang
his head against the wall or table, or pinch himself," Lisa said. "And
people will stare, and they should stare, because he's a big kid. That I
can be OK with. But it's the people who stand there a long time staring
that get to me."

Again, fuck 'em. I return those stares, lock-eyed and without expression. I've never had a person not drop their eyes in shame after a second or two. But my priority will always be Leo, and getting him out of a situation that is distressing for him.

One time on a shopping trip, Jeffrey lay down in
the middle of a mall, "and there was a woman who just stood there and
stared at us like we were the circus. Yes, look; yes, be sympathetic;
but then, move on, or offer to help."

While the negative
encounters stand out, the Maloneys also appreciate the people who have
been extraordinarily kind and patient with their sons, whether it is the
Giant Eagle employees who allow Patrick to order food from pictographs on his computer tablet, or the women who cut the boys' hair at a Great Clips near their home.

Our experience has been that most people in retail are awesome and thoughtful. We also tend to go to places where people know Leo, and have his back.

When a family has a child with special needs, let alone two, it can radically change the landscape for the remaining siblings.

Yes, Iz's soccer schedule dominates our entire family calendar. I kid, but only slightly. Again with the "we all accommodate each other." And also the "no guarantees in parenting."

For Adam Maloney, it made him grow up faster and quickly take on the role of helper to his older brothers.

This is not the case with Mali, Leo's younger sister. She is very very very awesome, but also her own person leading her own life -- and she helps the family in other ways. Iz is much more thoughtful with her brother and always has been.

"He's
a remarkable child," his mother said. "Very level-headed, very
responsible. Sometimes I would try to tell him, you know, things won't
fall apart if you just be a young child sometime. Three or four times
teachers in elementary school called me in to say, 'He's too serious,' but I would say, 'Well, he has a very serious life.' "

I really think Adam is demonstrating an interplay of personality and circumstances, and this seriousness cannot be generalized to all autism siblings as stated directly above.

His
father said Adam "realized from a young age that he's got to sacrifice,
and pitch in a little more, but in the long run, it's going to be
beneficial because he knows it's hard for any family to function well,
and he's got a basis of knowing what it takes to keep a family going."

We've worked very hard to ensure that our three of our kids get to be the kind of kids they were born to be. And all families sacrifice and accommodate, but we do not expect excessive sacrifice for Leo's sake -- because I don't think he would want that, and I don't want his sisters to resent him.

Adam
helped with Jeffrey's intensive therapy when Jeffrey was young, and
now, he will even do his homework in the bathroom so he can watch while
Jeffrey takes a bath to make sure he doesn't have any seizures.

That is thoughtful, the homework during baths. But I hope Adam helped with the therapy willingly and was not pressured into it.

How does he feel about all this? "The
No. 1 lesson I've learned is: Always be on your toes. That's pretty
much the basis of everything. Everything revolves around Jeffrey, and
paying attention to him at all times."

My No. 1 question is: doesn't this family have respite, and if not, why not?

And while that may seem to
ask for a lot of self-sacrifice, Adam said that as a result, "I think
I'm a lot nicer to people and I'm more understanding. I'm also a lot
more aware of other people than some are. Even with my sister, she won't
have to say anything and I'll understand how she is feeling based on
her body language."

My kids, by contrast, have learned not to underestimate or avoid or be prejudiced against people who are different than them. That's why they're nicer. (Well, the girls are nicer sometimes. And Leo's just a nice kid in general.)

He also has created his own space by joining track and soccer teams in school, which allows him to decompress from pressures at home.

All kids deserve their own space. I'm glad he's found his.

"My
friends will say they've had a really bad day, and I'll ask why, and
they will say something like, 'Oh, my TV was broken and I couldn't watch
my TV shows' and in the back of my mind I'm thinking, 'Well my brother
screamed for eight hours today and I was trying to sit in my room and
have peace and quiet and I couldn't do it.' Other people's problems
aren't really problems in my world anymore."

Hmm. I get this, the comparison game -- I am human after all -- though we tend to try to practice gratitude for what we do have and not dwell on what we don't. But my heart also goes out to the screaming brother, who was obviously in distress. I'd want to know why he was screaming and would be wondering -- again -- whether or not he's getting the right supports, and enough of them.

Lisa Maloney said her family life has changed how she views other problems, too."I
don't feel like I get as crazy angry with people, because you don't
know what they're going through. If someone cuts me off in traffic,
that's OK, because maybe that person has to get home because their son
is having a seizure -- you don't know."

Ha. Me too.

Facing the future. One
reason the Maloneys agreed to talk about their lives is that they
realize they are in the first big wave of parents whose autistic
children are entering an uncertain adulthood.

[...] She is ambivalent about group
living, not only because of concerns about the quality of programs that
are available, but also because of her desire to keep Jeffrey and
Patrick safe and happy. "One day I'm thinking I'll never put them
anywhere, they're going to be with me until the day I die, and then
another day, I'll think 'Oh, this is not fair to them or me or anyone,
and we're going to start making a plan about where to put them.'"

As they try to see the way into their future, the Maloneys also try not to burden others with their present. "People
in my family comment all the time, 'Oh, you just handle it all so
well,' " Lisa said, "and we do trudge through it, but I don't go into my
office and say I've been scrubbing poop for four hours, or if I get
into my office and my boss says I thought you were going to be here at
8:30 and it's 10 to 9 and we have to go to a meeting, I don't say 'Well,
I had to get the last load of laundry in or we wouldn't have had clean
sheets tonight.' "

I don't appreciate being lauded for being Leo's parent either, nor does my husband (we have two other kids, after all). What child doesn't deserve their parent's very best? (And to trust them not to talk about their bathroom habits...)

"No one would ever say to me, 'I wish I could wake
up in your life,' " Lisa said. "But I think a lot of people would like
the relationships we have in our family unit -- and it is because of the
boys."

This is a better note to end on than most autism articles, though the compliment to their boys is rather backhanded. And I don't want other peoples' lives either -- too much newness to muddle through. In our house, anything different is bad. But we're still a mindfully happy house, and I do wish reporters would write more about families like ours, and not project pity-based media stereotypes on us.

9.30.2013

I left a version of this comment on TPGA Facebook. But it bears repeating. Because there are still too many people who do not consider themselves "anti-vaccine" yet argue that vaccine risks are too high. Here's why they're wrong. Dangerously, badly wrong.

Dear Anti-Vaccine Concern Troll,

By
attempting to distance yourself from "anti-vaccine militants" you are Concern Trolling whether you are aware of it or not. Here's what's what:

4) Vaccine
reactions are real but extremely rare and do not include autism (autism is genetic & by the way: stop demonizing Autistic people like my son). Consider: you
could use a risks/benefits analysis to argue against people
riding in cars, but with cars the risks are statistically much more outsize, and few stop riding in cars even though we're aware of the
risks because we value the benefits too much. Which is how it should be with vaccines! However (again) vaccine benefits have become nearly theoretical, in
the US at least.

"...parents who don’t
vaccinate their children tell you they’re making a purely personal
choice. This is, of course, technically true, in the same sense that
driving after having a few beers is a personal choice. As the mother of
the 10-month-old hospitalized [with measles] in San Diego said, if people want to make
that choice, they should go live on an island with its own schools and
doctors: 'Their own little infectious disease island.'"

If you want all of our kids to stay healthy and safe, do what you can to counter anti-vaccine concern trolls.

9.27.2013

This is an outline for a three-hour iPads and Apps workshop I recently gave for the excellent San Francisco organization Support for Families of Children With Disabilities. The outline's backbone is consistent with many of my past presentations, while updated in several areas because things move fast in the iDevices and apps worlds. Case in point: the presentation was a few days before iOS 7 was released. (All I'll say about iOS 7 is that making things more subtle is not a great idea for visual people -- Leo is still having trouble opening his iPad, because he can't locate the swipe area. So while iOS 7 may be prettier, it's also less accessible.)

If you missed this workshop, I've got a couple other iPad workshops coming up, one local and one in the UK. And if you have any questions about the info below -- seeing as it is fairly bare bones -- do leave a comment.

Yes, iPads and Apps
Really Can Help Individuals With Special NeedsSupport for Families \ September 14, 2013

Leo is singing a song about Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck right now, because all things Disneyland are never far from his mind. He asks to go to Disneyland every single day of his life, and if he hadn't been singing that song, he'd probably have been watching California Screamin' roller coaster videos on YouTube, or looking through pictures of his own 2011 trip to the Land of Mouse.

Leo really, really loves Disneyland. Really loves it. It is his happy place, one of the few places I know he will have a good time all day long, one of a handful of not-our-home places I feel fully comfortable taking him.

Leo's visit was a huge success, and Disneyland turned out to his Land of
Yes. He got to do exactly what he wanted all day long, directing the
action according to his interests and impulses -- an unprecedented
freedom for a boy with a heavily structured life. He was also never
bored, which can be an issue for people with communication challenges.
Because of a Guest Assistance [Card] the Mouse thoughtfully provides for
people whose behaviors make it difficult to wait in lines, Leo could get
right back on any ride he liked, as many times as he wanted.

You have to understand: our love of the GAC is not because we get to skip lines and blow raspberries at all the chumps who don't. Skipping lines is not a convenience but a necessary accommodation for our boy. Because he is autistic. Because of his specific disability.

Leo can wait in lines, but not always. Not lines of Disneyland length. Not without melting down due to the crowds, the noise, the expectation based on previous experience that he will not have to wait in lines longer than 20 or so minutes. Without the GAC, Disneyland is effectively barred to my son.

Even with the GAC, it can be difficult -- there is no GAC for park entry lines, so when those lines were longer than he was used to the last time we visited, Leo ended up having a spectacular meltdown. Please believe me, he really does need GAC accommodation; he doesn't deserve to be a public spectacle just because of his neurology.

I understand that Disney is planning an alternative to the GAC: the Disabled Assistance System (DAS), which includes a system of going to kiosks to get return times for the most popular rides. Which incorporates back-and-forth time for DAS users only. People with disabilities and their families only. Which means additional complications and fewer ride times for those for whom going to Disneyland is already much more complicated and so already includes fewer ride times.

I have heard from several different sources that Disneyland discontinued the GAC because people were rampantly taking advantage of it, either falsely claiming disability or in some cases hiring disabled people so their non-disabled kids could skip lines.

Happiest boy, happiest family (Feb 2013)

My reaction: So what? There will always be losers
people who game accommodation systems. But in a fair and just society,
you don't take away (or complicate) accommodations for people with
disabilities just because non-disabled people are taking advantage of
them and making other non-disabled people mad. Especially as I've never
heard from any of our Disneyland-loving, GAC-using friends about being
disadvantaged due to too many other GAC users.

There are so many other things that make Disneyland wonderful for Leo: Hotel pools that open at 9 AM. Cheerful and accommodating staff. Beer in California Adventure (OK, OK -- that one's for me). But the GAC is the Disneyland matter that matters most for our family. I will continue to monitor the DAS as it develops, and learn from others about whether it could work for us. I hope so, because I had just started to plan our next Disneyland trip. If we shouldn't go, I need to know soon.

9.16.2013

This is my Leo. He's 12 years old. He's autistic. Could you look him in the eye and tell him you understand why parents kill autistic kids like him, or indeed any disabled kid who needs full-time support?

You couldn't?

Is it because you assume he wouldn't understand you? (Ahem. Presume competence. How do you know he wouldn't understand?)

Is it because you've learned enough about autism to know that autistic people often find eye contact uncomfortable? (Then why didn't you take the time to find out that Leo isn't much for stereotypes and actually craves eye contact?)

Is it because you're a coward and can only say such things on the Internet? Because you mistakenly assume autistic kids and adults don't read what you write -- or if they do, then that proves they're not like your child and so don't get to join your conversations about their lives being devalued?

Or is it because you are a decent person and could never imagine doing such a thing, and understand that telling another person (or group of people) why their life isn't valuable is totally, beyond the pale, nastily, horribly, prejudicially, morally wrong?

Just because you understand how difficult parenting can be does not mean
you understand why someone would kill their autistic child. Those two
subjects need to be separated by a brick wall.

That's another one you should feel free to repeat to yourself indefinitely. Keep the above picture of Leo in front of you while you chant, if you need to. Does Leo deserve to be stabbed? Does Leo deserve to be poisoned? Does Leo deserve to be trapped in a car with a couple of charcoal grills while carbon monoxide builds to toxic levels? NO. Neither did Alex, Issy, or Jaelen.

Most autism parents would never even think of harming their kids. Even when times are tough, they know their kids need their love and support, and are their responsibility. But some parents -- due to their own wiring -- may be at increased risk for despicable acts towards their children. When and if that risk is present, you need to ask yourself one final question: Do you want those parents to be constantly exposed to the message that society will forgive them for murdering their autistic children? Or do you want them to absorb that murder is wrong, murder is unacceptable, and that they have other options if they feel they can't continue?

8.21.2013

Mali is a smartypants, that's just a fact. But I don't think it's enough to be a smartypants and then be proud of that fact -- I think being smart and gathering facts without being curious -- & motivated by that curiosity to learn more more more -- is a waste of a brain. What do you think?

Trust me, I'm infinitely amused by today's Mali smartypants incidents (that my FB friends already know about, apologies for the recycle). Such as reading this month's National Geographic and freaking out about sea level rise and lecturing everyone in earshot about which global cities are going to be gone and why. Such as, when our refrigerator broke down, lecturing me on how exactly a fridge compressor makes the fridge cold. (Thank you, Beakman's World.)

And the following exchange:

Mali: "Isn't it ironic that Amy Winehouse died of alcohol poisoning and has the word 'wine' in her name?"

But then on the way to dropping Iz at soccer practice, they started talking about the digestive system for some reason. Which ended with Mali saying, "that's what smooth muscle will do for you!" Iz started, then told Mali she was smart, because she's going into 4th grade and Iz herself didn't learn about smooth muscle until 7th grade. After Iz left the car, Mali asked me if I thought it was good that she was smart. And here's where I am again curious as to what you think. I asked her if she knew why smooth muscle was different from cardiac muscle. She said she didn't. So I told her that it was good to be smart and learn a lot, but that it wasn't enough to gather information and move on -- it was important to know why things are the way they are. I told her I was impressed by her autodidact skills (she knew about smooth and cardiac muscles from reading, not from school) (and then we broke autodidact into its roots, so she would remember not just what it means but why), but it was important to also synthesize and delve and go deeper and find out more. Is this unfair, for an eight-year-old? I guess I don't want her to be (more of) a showoff about what she knows. I want her to love knowledge itself, and pursue it for its own means, for her own use, not as a card or parlor trick. It is only OK to act like Hermione Granger if you learn like Hermione Granger, is my thought.